


Misadventures in Babysitting

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Ass Play, Babysitting, Blow Jobs, Breasts, Butt Plugs, Cheating, College, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Come as Lube, Cowgirl Position, Cunnilingus, Dominance, Edgeplay, Erections, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasizing, Fondling, Foot Fetish, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Large Breasts, Lube, Masturbation, Masturbation Interruptus, Masturbation in Shower, May/December Relationship, Messy, Middle School, Mutual Masturbation, Neighbors, Nipple Licking, Nudity, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, Orgasm, POV First Person, Penis In Vagina Sex, Penises, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Post-High School, Rimming, Sex, Sex Toys, Sexual Content, Simultaneous Orgasm, Stripping, Teacher-Student Relationship, Teacher/Student, Underage Masturbation, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Vibrators, Voyeurism, Watching, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:33:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27068683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Lynn hadn't done a babysitting job for Mr. Finney in years, and things have changed. She's in college - and he's in a not-so-happy marriage.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Fantasies Become Real

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, it's a teacher/student story, even though it's a former teacher and the student is now in college. But there's an age difference of about fifteen years.
> 
> (Now two chapters!)
> 
> Enjoy!

My boyfriend and I were supposed to be going out for our one-month anniversary. Dinner, and after-dinner fun, had been planned.

If you had told me I was going to end up babysitting, and then what was going to happen _after_ , I would've never believed you.

**ooOoo**

I was just about to hop in the shower when Rick called and cancelled. "I got called in to work, and it's time and a half, plus the third shift bonus. I can't give that up."

"But when are we supposed to go out? I have to work tomorrow, and you'll be sleeping all day anyway. And then it'll be Monday."

"Babe, it's major bucks! Thirty-five an hour! When we go out, I'll be able to afford that French restaurant you wanted to go to. That'll be cool, right?"

I'd grudgingly agreed, and then resolved that if I was going to be without a date on a Saturday night, I might as well enjoy myself.

"Taking a shower," I mutter to my roommate Val, and then head for the bathroom. Val lifts her hand in a wave. "See you in an hour," she says.

Val knows me pretty good. Although an hour is a bit of an exaggeration.

I undress in the bathroom, tossing my clothes in the hamper, then face the mirror. I study my breasts, and as usual I'm vaguely surprised they are mine. I have broad shoulders and I don't typically wear form-fitting shirts, so the D-size boobs aren't always obvious. Until I undress. I cradle the mounds of flesh in my hands, rubbing my thumbs over my already-erect nipples. "Your loss, Rick," I murmur, pinching the pink nipples and twisting them, watching the surrounding brown skin pucker.

With a sigh, I move to the shower and turn on the water, adjusting the cold and hot spigots until I get the temperature perfect. I step inside and relax under the stream. I wash my hair and do the necessary soaping with my bath poof, and rinse off. Then I unhook the shower head from the wall, extending it on its hose, and rotate the setting to "Vibrate and Massage."

I aim the spray up my ass first. If I position it just right, with the pounding spray and the vibrating shower head, it's like a super-erotic bidet. Okay, a little weird, but don't knock it 'til you've tried it. I have the cleanest ass in town, and I have fun in the process. Plus, it's a necessary step. Foreplay, if you will.

It's not long before I've had all I can stand in the rear, and my body is calling for the next step. I move the shower head to the main attraction. I open my legs and place the shower head in between, patiently adjusting it until I can feel the jets of water repeatedly slamming against my clit. I close my legs around the shower head to keep it in position, and lean against the shower wall.

The mix of the vibrating shower head and the massaging spray of water makes my breath quicken. I duck my head and watch the water swirling around my feet. My body jerks and bends as I can feel the sensation grow, and I back off, changing the position of the shower head to prolong the edging.

After a few more minutes of edging I know I won't be able to wait much longer. My body suddenly seems too big for the shower, too big for the bathroom. I pant and groan and pound on the shower wall, and just before the orgasm hits I grab the spigot on the "hot" tap and turn it up. I press my face into the wall and moan with the painful pleasure that makes my body shudder. My lips are pressed against my teeth as I hold my face against the wet shower wall. I wiggle and twitch and grab at my breasts, and the bottle of shampoo falls off the shower rack and hits the tub floor with a thump.

Just as I begin to feel the orgasm fade, I grasp the "cold" spigot and twist it. Cold water slams between my legs, and instead of fading, my orgasm increases. I can't stop the cries of absolute pleasure. "Oh oh oh God oh OH OH. . . " My head is swimming, my eyes are squeezed shut, and I can taste blood in my mouth, from my bruised lips.

I am talented, that's for sure.

This time when the orgasm starts to fade I quickly turn off the shower. I stand, partially bent, water dripping off of me, as my vag clenches and twinges. I moan softly and rub my hand over my mouth, looking distractedly at the blood.

"Did you drown in there?"

Val's question has an obvious edge of amusement. It's not like she didn't know exactly what I was doing. She's done it herself, although I know she doesn't range the temperature like I do.

But I don't have as many toys as Val. She was the one who'd accompanied me to our local sex "boutique" when I turned eighteen, pointing out recommendations and personal favorites. When I'd approached the counter with my choices (Climaxx Cream and a multi-speed forked vibrator), Val had taken them from my hands and purchased them herself, saying they were birthday gifts. I had initially protested, as she'd already given me a gift, but I soon realized that Val had so many punches on her loyalty card, she was able to buy my selections at half-price.

I hadn't even known "Naugh T. Normal" had loyalty cards.

I dry off, rub the towel over my hair, and grab my robe off the hook. I'm still loosely tying the sash when Val speaks again. "Did you hear the phone ring when you were in there?"

I open the bathroom door and peep out. "Rick?" I ask hopefully.

"No, your mom. Hey, is your mouth bleeding?"

I look in the mirror. Because I'd turned the water cold, it's not too steamed up. I pull out my lip and look at the bloody inside, the part that had pushed against my teeth when I'd pressed my face up against the shower wall. I spit into the sink, then grab a Dixie cup and fill it with water, which I sip and then swish around in my mouth. I spit a few more times until there's barely any pink in the sink.

"What did my mom want?"

"She wants you to call back. But get this – she wants you take a babysitting job!"

"You're kidding." Once I gotten my license and could drive, I'd taken a job waitressing at a local country-themed restaurant. The hours were flexible, the tips were good, and I got half-price (and sometimes free) food when I was working. I hadn't babysat since I was fourteen, maybe fifteen.

Babysitting is a kid's job.

I call my mom back to tell her that. "Val said you aren't doing anything this evening," my mom argues.

I'll have to remember to thank Val for that.

"Yeah, maybe not, but babysitting? C'mon, Mom!"

"You haven't even asked who it's for."

"Why would that make a difference?" I ask. "Is it some millionaire or something?"

"It's for Joe Finney."

Joe – Mr. Finney – is a stone fox. He had been one of my middle school teachers. He also used to live two houses down from the house where I grew up, but now he has a place on the other side of town. He still owns the house on my mom's block, only now he's the landlord, and rents it out. So she still sees him from time to time, when he comes over to mow the lawn or shovel after a snowfall. Now that I've moved out and rent a small house (with Val) near campus, I don't really see Mr. Finney anymore.

When Mr. Finney lived on our block I would babysit for his son. I was thirteen, and his son was eight. Not much of an age difference, but they didn't want him staying home alone, especially at night – I was usually the "date night" babysitter. Mr. and Mrs. Finney had a lot of date nights. The "dates" were supposed to help their rocky marriage, but a lot of times when they came home from the dates, they were arguing. They separated the next year, and divorced shortly after. Mrs. Finney took their son and went to live with her sister. Mr. Finney stayed in the house alone . . . but not for long. Like I said, he's a catch. Maybe a year after the divorce he was remarried, to a woman a lot prettier – and younger – than his wife had been, and they moved across town. They have a little boy, not quite two years old.

It was rumored that the separation and eventual divorce was precipitated by Mr. Finney's inability to keep his dick in his pants. His quick relationship and marriage to Miss Young and Pretty seemed to validate this. But as Mr. Finney was well-liked in the school and the community, the rumors didn't hold much strength. And as time went on, the blame for the break-up shifted to the former Mrs. Finney, and her possible infidelity. Since she had moved away, she was unable to prove her innocence.

Mr. Finney teaches history at the middle school, and most of the girls in his class crush on him hard – with good reason. When I was in his class the other girls were insanely jealous of me, because not only did Mr. Finney live on my street, but I had been IN HIS HOUSE. I'd shrugged it off, telling them Mr. Finney was just a family friend. Plus, he was old. Like almost thirty.

I didn't tell them that, after I was sure their son was asleep, I'd sneak into the Finneys" bedroom, undress, and then climb into the bed. I'd pretend that I was married to Mr. Finney and that his naked body was in the bed alongside me. I'd act out quiet fantasies (not wanting to wake Joe Jr.), grabbing the bed posts and shaking them, moving my head back and forth as if in ecstasy. I'd twist my body under the covers, whispering, "Joe, oh Joe, screw me harder!"

I was thirteen. I didn't exactly know what I was saying, just imitating something I'd seen in a movie. Although I would touch myself, exploring my burgeoning breasts and the new hair sprouting between my legs. My first time masturbating was in Mr. Finney's bed. Not as successful as my current shower routine, but the inappropriateness, and the danger, had excited the young me. 

And I _had_ almost gotten caught, twice. One time J.J. hadn't been as fast asleep as I had thought, and he'd heard the jostling bed posts and the squeaking mattress. He'd come wandering into his parents' room just as I was re-making the bed. In his groggy state, he accepted the excuse that I was just tidying up, that it was a normal side-job of babysitting. The second time Mr. and Mrs. Finney had come home earlier than expected, the date cut short by a rather vicious argument that was still continuing as they'd entered the house. I'd barely smoothed the bed sheets and left their room before Mr. Finney came down the hall, quietly calling my name. If he'd noticed my tousled hair and messily wrinkled clothes, he didn't mention it.

It wasn't until a few minutes later, while I'd been walking home, that I'd realized the zipper was still down on my slacks.

"Doesn't he have a regular babysitter?" I ask my mother now.

"She's sick. Lynn, he sounded pretty desperate. It's his wife's birthday, and he has tickets to take her to that dinner show place. Please, Lynn, help him out, would you?"

Val is close by, listening. "Who needs a babysitter?" she whispers. "Mr. Finney," I whisper back. Val's eyes widen and she nods approvingly.

Louder, I tell my mom, "I don't even have a car. You know it's in the shop for the alternator."

Val speaks up, loud enough so my mom can hear. "I can drop her off on my way to work, Mrs. Caslin!"

After I hang up the phone I go into my room to get dressed, grumbling all the way. Val follows me. "You think Mr. Finney can run you home?"

I go into my closet, let my robe fall to the floor, and grab a pair of sweatpants off the shelf. As I pull them on over my bare ass, I answer, "I guess so. I'm not worried about it. I'll find a ride." I poke my head out of my closet. "Throw me a bra, will ya?"

Val digs around in my drawer and pulls out a black lace bra. She holds it up with a mischievous grin. "I bet Mr. Finney would like this one!"

**ooOoo**

The new Mrs. Finney is pretty nice. She falls all over herself thanking me for helping them out on short notice, tells me I can have whatever I want out of their fridge, and promises they will pay me well when they return. Mr. Finney seems distracted – he smiles at me, asks me how my mom is, and then is rushing his wife out the door. I hold little Quentin (God, what a name) and we wave at them as they back out of the driveway.

The kid is simple enough to handle. He doesn't seem to have any "stranger danger," at least not with me. He'd already had supper (Spaghetti-Os) before I got there, and we play puppets and blocks and watch some little kid videos on YouTube. I put him down with a bottle ("just water, no juice or milk" Mrs. Finney had directed) and he drops right off to sleep. Then I sit on the couch and flip through the TV channels, occasionally checking my phone for a text from Rick. I also text Val at work. She works the late shift as a desk clerk in a resort hotel, and when there's nothing going on she gets bored and plays with her phone. She also likes to let me know when something exciting happens, like when they have to call the cops either for a drunk guest, a domestic dispute in a room, or if they have to evict someone. Val texts back that it is pretty quiet tonight, and says she might get off early.

I'm dozing when Mr. and Mrs. Finney get back at ten-thirty. Mrs. Finney goes right to check on Quentin, and when she comes back into the living room I sense some tension between the husband and wife. Oh God, not again.

Mrs. Finney gives me twenty-five bucks from her purse (I guess that's not too bad for a couple hours, the kid was pretty easy) and then nods at Mr. Finney. "Joe will run you home."

"That's okay, I can call an Uber," I offer.

"Nonsense," she replies, then looks pointedly at Mr. Finney. "He needs to stop at the store anyway." Mrs. Finney grabs a piece of paper off the counter, and shoves it at Mr. Finney. "Joe," she says sharply.

Just before Mr. Finney swipes the list from his wife, I read a few things on it. Diapers, bread, tampons. I grimace.

"And make sure you get the right size diapers. I don't care how many stores you have to go to."

I almost get the idea that the new Mrs. Finney is trying to get rid of Mr. Finney.

**ooOoo**

Mr. Finney is pretty quiet in the car. I don't really know what to say, either.

"How was the dinner show?"

"Oh, it was fine."

He doesn't say anything more than that, and I nod awkwardly. "That's good."

We're almost to my house when Mr. Finney looks at me and abruptly asks, "How old are you now, Lynn?"

"Eighteen. I graduated in May."

"Wow. I wondered, when I called your mother. The last time I saw you was what, a year ago? I came over to get the rent from my tenants, and you were out mowing."

I blush at the memory. That was late last summer, when I still lived at home. I had been out in my yard work clothes – old cut off jean shorts, and no bra under a baggy tee-shirt. I had been sweaty and grungy, and then perfect clean-cut Mr. Finney had driven up.

"Uh, yeah. That was embarrassing."

Mr. Finney chuckles. He pulls up in front of my and Val's small house. "You two rent this from Sam Peyton, right?"

"Yeah, he's a pretty cool landlord." I put my hand on the handle and am ready to open the door, when Mr. Finney drops his hand on my knee. I _think_ it's just to stop me, but the touch sends an unexpected shock through me. I freeze, then turn back slowly. Mr. Finney is looking at me hard, almost through me.

"If you have any problems with Sam, if he doesn't keep up the place or if he gets heavy-handed asking for the rent, you just tell me." Mr. Finney's voice is soft, and somewhat suggestive. His hand is still on my knee, and now he's squeezing it lightly. "I'll talk to him, make sure he stays cool."

"O…kay. Thanks." I open the car door, and Mr. Finney takes his hand off my knee. He smiles at me, and I suddenly realize that even though I've gotten older, he still looks the same as he did when I was in middle school. Still the same stone fox. It's like I aged and he didn't.

He doesn't seem that much older than me now.

But he's got both hands on the steering wheel again, and he bids me good-bye as I exit the car and head for my door. He stays parked at the curb until he sees me enter the house. Then with a wave he drives away.

I close the front door and lean against it, my heart pounding.

Did Mr. Finney just make a pass at me?

**ooOoo**

I get a diet soda from the fridge and go to the living room, to kick off my tennies and curl up on the couch. I grab the remote and try to look for something interesting to watch, something that will take my mind off the tingle in my spine, the feeling on my knee where Mr. Finney had placed his large, warm hand. I sip my soda distractedly.

After a moment I set the can aside and sit with my thoughts. I consider sticking my hand under the waistband of my sweatpants to explore my pussy. Masturbate to Mr. Finney's image in my head, for old time's sake. Maybe get my toy out.

I've been sitting for maybe five minutes when there's a knock at my door. It's followed by a voice. "Lynn? It's Mr. Finney. Can you come to the door?"

I turn off the TV and jump off the couch. I have to force myself to walk at a normal pace to the door. I turn on the outside light, then peer through the peep hole. "Mr. Finney?"

I unlock the door and open it to look bemusedly at him.

He's standing on the stoop looking lost, holding a dark phone in his hand. "My damn car broke down, and I can't even call Junie because my phone's out of juice. Can I use your phone?"

"Uh, sure." I turn away from the door and back to the living room, scooping up my phone from the couch. I hear the door shut but I don't really register it until I turn to take Mr. Finney my phone, and see him standing _right_ in front of me.

"Lynn, do you know how beautiful you are?"

Mr. Finney takes the phone from my hand and tosses it back on the couch. I look at the phone, then back at Mr. Finney. I can feel my heart beating in my throat, and I can hear it in my ears. My stomach is churning with butterflies. My skin feels hot.

His closeness is both alarming and electrifying.

"Mr. F-Finney – "

"Joe. I haven't been your teacher for years. Call me Joe." He reaches out to touch my hair, and tucks a strand behind my ear. I shudder and blink, and he smiles.

"Joe." I inhale, trying to catch my breath. "Joe, what – what are you doing?"

The smile is now a sly grin. "I thought it was obvious." He leans forward and nuzzles my neck, dotting it with quick kisses. "Oh, God, you're so sweet. So young and sweet."

I should slap his face. I should threaten to call his wife. But instead my hand comes up automatically to cradle his head, and he moans huskily.

Yet when his hands go to my breasts, I force myself back guiltily, shaking my head. "Mr. – Joe. You're married."

He scoffs, then regards me mildly. "Out of all the girls in class, all the ones who hit on me when you were there, all the ones that still hit on me. . . You never did. Do you know how sexy that made you?"

No, I couldn't flirt with him or tease him in front of the other girls, not when I had told them I didn't see him that way. When they all thought I was taking the high road, instead of wallowing in lust like the rest of them.

 _More_ than the rest of them. As far as I know, none of them had lain in Mr. Finney's bed, masturbating and imagining dirty things.

Things just like this.

I shake my head again, wondering how long I'd been on Mr. Finney's radar. He seems to predict my question.

"Ever since you came to babysit for J.J., I couldn't get you out of my mind. So many years, watching you from afar, fantasizing, waiting. . ."

Wait. _He'd_ fantasized about _me_ , too?

"Quentin's babysitter being sick today was a Godsend," he finishes. "It brought you to me."

Before I know what's happening, I'm sitting on the couch with Joe kneeling before me. He leans in, his arms on either side of me, so close I can see the flecks of green in his hazel eyes.

His beautiful hazel eyes. His finely crafted nose. His partially open lips, just begging to be kissed and nibbled on and bit.

My body seems to work of its own accord. I reach for Joe's shirt collar, pull him closer to me, and meet my lips to his. I can feel his mouth curl in a smile. His arms move and he places his hands on my shoulders, then runs them tantalizingly up and down my arms.

My whole body is trembling. I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe Joe Finney wants _me_. I break the kiss, panting, and as we part he looks quickly around the room. "Are we alone?"

I nod. "Val's still at work."

"Mmm." Joe leans back on his haunches. "That's too bad." For a millisecond my heart plummets, until he continues. "We could've had some fun with Val. But I guess it'll just have to be you and me." Then he pulls off his shirt in such a quick motion, it gives me the mental image of buttons flying across the room.

I look at Joe's naked torso, and I lose my shit.

His chest and abs are stunning. I had thought Rick looked nice, but Joe Finney is sculpted like a God. How could I have not known this? I reach for him and run my hands over his defined pecs, my fingers thrilling in the feel of his chest hair. I trace the outline of the muscles in his six-pack. He grabs one of my hands and kisses it. Then, with that same sly grin as before, he says, "I showed you mine. Time for you to return the favor." He reaches for my tee-shirt and lifts it over my head in one fluid motion, tossing it aside like he had tossed aside my phone. I'm now sitting before him in my black lace bra. Sometime I'll have to thank Val for giving me that bra earlier.

My hands go to my chest, to cross in front of my breasts in an attempt at modesty. Joe gently pulls my hands away, and his breath catches in his throat. "God damn, Lynn," he murmurs. "Where have those been hiding?"

I feel my face grow warm. . . And I'm suddenly very aware that I have no panties on under my sweatpants. Because I am feeling noticeably warm down there as well. I shift slightly on the couch, and feel wetness between my thighs.

Yes, he's married. Yes, he's at least fifteen years older than me, maybe more. But God he's so _sexy_. He's a man, whereas Rick is a boy.

I want him. It's obvious by my heaving chest, by the way my fingers and hands are trembling. It's obvious by my dry mouth and wet pussy.

I pull my hands back from Joe's, and reach around myself to my bra clasp. I undo the clasp, and slowly and methodically, slip the bra straps from my shoulders, one at a time. When both bra straps have slid down, I gently shift my arms so the bra cups fall from my breasts.

I watch Joe's eyes as I do my mini strip routine, and see how they drink in every little movement. There is perspiration on his upper lip, and his tongue flicks out to lick it off. And the moment my bra falls, a whimper comes from Joe's throat that is vulnerable and powerful at the same time.

Like I had reached for Joe's chest at its unveiling, he is now gravitated toward mine. He touches my breasts with a kind of reverence, and I arch my back, pressing my breasts into his manly hands. "Oh, sweet God," he whispers. "They're magnificent. _You're_ magnificent."

Joe drops his hands suddenly and his eyes lock with mine. Knowing his silent question, I pull him closer and place my hands around his neck, angling his head down.

Joe's mouth fits over my right breast and begins to suck, hesitant at first, and then with desperation. His tongue licks my nipple and I gasp lightly, then cry out unexpectedly as his teeth bite down. He draws back to look at me in worry.

"No, it's okay," I assure him quickly. "I was just . . . surprised."

Another grin, then Joe lowers his head again and gives equal attention to my left breast. As he suckles, his hand comes up to fondle my right breast, still wet with his saliva. I lean back into the couch, squirming a little as I feel the wetness between my legs grow. I pull my fingers through Joe's hair, drawing him against me, and he nips my left breast, holding the nipple between his teeth and pressing down until I groan, unable to stop myself.

Joe backs away, and his face is flushed. His lips are wet and look delicious. He smiles again, then shifts his gaze to my crotch, surely drawn by my fidgeting. He looks up into my face, and raises his eyebrows in question.

"Should we take this to your bedroom?"

As he had eyed my crotch, I now eye his, and see the large bulge in his jeans. "Oh, that looks uncomfortable," I say. "I think we do need a change of scenery."

Joe rises to his feet, and I see that he is indeed uncomfortable, almost unable to stand up straight as his erection presses against the denim material. But then, completely surprising me, he reaches down to scoop me up off the couch as if I weigh nothing. He holds me against his muscled chest, and I feel like a bride about to be carried over the threshold.

"Which way?"

I direct him to my bedroom, and as we enter I reach over to flick on the light. Joe carries me to my bed and places me down softly, then stands at the edge of the bed and undoes his jeans. He lets them fall to the floor, and I stare in astonishment at how much bigger he is, now that that his cock isn't pressed into submission. The boxers, damp in the front, drop next, and his eager cock fairly jumps out and up. It's dark and veiny and I think I can even see it throbbing. The swollen head is wet with precum. He's got at least two inches on Rick.

As Rick has been the only guy I've slept with, I suddenly realize I've been getting the short end of the stick.

So to speak.

"Are you ready, Lynn? Are you ready for me?"

I nod, still staring silently at his huge dick. _No wonder he couldn't keep it in his pants; it barely fits._ Then I swallow, and confess, "I've been ready. Ready for years, I think."

Joe kneels at the edge of the bed and pulls off my socks. He licks the soles of my feet and my toes, and sucks on my toes, one by one. Then he reaches for my waist and grips my sweatpants. I raise my butt up in the air to give him easier purchase. He pulls my sweatpants off and holds them as he looks with happy satisfaction at my exposed, shaved pussy. "No panties?" he asks, and then with a teasing tone he says, "What a little slut."

He is still holding my sweatpants, and he notices the wet patch. He holds the crotch of my pants to his face and deeply inhales my scent. Then he tosses them to the side and climbs up onto the bed, in between my legs. I bend my knees and let my legs fall apart, and Joe abruptly sticks two fingers into me.

I gasp at the sudden penetration, and whine softly as his fingers slide in and around, exploring, teasing, rubbing, pinching. "You are so wet," he says, sounding impressed.

His fingers go in deeper, and my butt lifts off the mattress – and then he quickly pulls his fingers from my pussy and instead inserts them in my ass. "Oh, Christ!" I breathe, as he opens and closes the fingers, spreading my asshole. I am dimly thankful that I had cleaned my ass so well in the shower. 

I hear Joe grunting softly as he changes his position, and now his head is between my legs, and his tongue is in my slit. His fingers are still in my ass, and he is licking and slurping up my fresh juices, sucking on my clit, and I have never been . . . enjoyed like this before. Desired.

Eaten.

Joe readjusts, rising a bit. He lifts my legs, pushing them up so that I am in an "L" position, and then lets my legs fall to hook over his shoulders.Then returning to my pussy and ass, Joe again trades his fingers and tongue. He starts to finger-fuck me, and uses his tongue to rim my asshole. I stare at the ceiling, awash in delight, and when Joe inserts his tongue into my ass, I let out a strangled cry. 

I reach for Joe's head, and tangling my fingers in his hair, I clench it with each wave of ecstasy. I know if he pleasures me orally much longer I'll orgasm, and I'm not quite ready for that. I have a thought, a request, and I want to hold my orgasm until I know. I bring my legs down as well as I can, and twist my waist slightly until Joe draws back, pulling his tongue from my ass and his fingers from my pussy. He looks at me inquiringly.

"You're not changing your mind?" he asks with trepidation.

I immediately shake my head, then bite my lip. "But, I wanted. . . I've never done more than missionary with my boyfriend, and I wanted. . ." I run my words together in one breath. "Iwanttorideyou."

It takes a moment for Joe to decipher the words, and then his smile is so wide I see almost all of his teeth. "Slide over, cowgirl."

Joe moves up on the bed alongside me and lays on his back, placing his hands behind his head. His cock, still so erect and thick and long, sticks up invitingly. I scramble up to my knees, then bring a tentative hand forward to run over the length of his shaft. I touch my thumb to the head, smearing the precum. He groans and moves his ass, then says, his voice tense, "Jesus, Lynn, I'm ready to fucking explode. If you want to enjoy your ride you'd better do it soon."

I need no more encouragement. I quickly straddle Joe, then raise myself up on my knees. With my right hand I take a firm hold of his cock and angle it as much as possible, until I can feel the head pressing against the opening of my pussy hole. Still holding him but also using gravity, I ease my body down.

I'm wet and ready, so ready, but he is bigger than Rick, bigger than I had even guessed with my eyes. I have to wiggle and force myself down, rocking. Joe pushes his ass up and forces from his side, and with a final great heave he is in to the hilt. He's so big I swear I can feel him in my throat.

I start to gyrate and bounce. The more I move, the easier his cock slides in me. I lean forward to grasp him on his muscled torso, and he reaches up to caress my breasts. I lift my ass up and down, my wet pussy coating his dick so I can now slide it in and out partially. I don't lift up all the way, as the sensation of his huge dick inside me is so glorious I don't want to stop. I gasp and pant and moan, as Joe's hands leave my breasts to go to my hips. He holds onto my hips and ass, his arms moving in time with my movements.

"Ride me Lynn! Ride me till I fucking burst! Go girl, go, go, go!"

I ride. My head is thrown back, my breasts are bouncing, my juices are running out of me to coat Joe's cock and balls. I never knew it could be like this. Rick is so lame, a baby, really. No wonder I had to pleasure myself in the shower. Rick couldn't give me what I needed. He couldn't give me this, this –

"Lynn I'm going to CUMMMM. . . "

I slam my ass down on Joe, I bounce, I feel his cock hard inside me, straining, expanding, filling my soul, my very being. I get the sensation of being too big again, like I had in the shower. I am larger than the bed, than the room, than my whole little house, and I rear back, my body suddenly straight as a board and nearly motionless – and then we orgasm together.

My whole body shudders in one great movement, and then I am lifting, floating, crying. I can feel the tears streaming down my face as I sob in frenzied pleasure. At the same time Joe is grunting violently, his ass lifting off the bed in powerful bursts as he thrusts into me repeatedly, shooting his wad again and again and again. Just when I think he's done there's another hard, satisfying thrust, and more cum spurts up inside me. Some leaks out and slides down his cock, settling into a slimy wet mess that connects us as we finish our orgasms.

I'm shaky and exhausted. I fall forward onto Joe, and his slowly shrinking cock slips out of my cunt. I feel it rest stickily between us, and I smile to myself. Joe's arms cross around my bare back, pressing me against him, squeezing my breasts into his chest.

"Oh, my sweet young Lynn," he breathes, his voice thick and gravelly. "You were wonderful. So worth the wait."

I rest my head in the crook of Joe's neck, and breathe in his musky sweat. "You weren't so bad yourself, Mr. Finney."

Joe laughs, his body shaking under mine.

I lay in Joe's arms, feeling safe and happy. Fulfilled. I'm dreading his eventual exit. I wonder how long he can stay, how long his wife expects him to be at the store. I sigh in despair, and he tightens his grip around me.

I am about to ask Joe what happens next when I hear the unmistakable sound of the door being opened, and Val's voice. "Damn it Lynn, you left the door unlocked! And whose car is that across the street?"

I jerk up, and my eyes meet Joe's. He is smiling, a wicked little smile, and after a moment I grin back.

"Val?" I call. "Come in my room. I'll explain everything."

**-continued-**


	2. Fun Direction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Val comes home right after Lynn and Joe Finney's good time. She's eventually convinced to join their escapades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter was written in Lynn's POV; this one is written in Val's POV. 
> 
> I know at least one reader was hoping for a sequel/second chapter. I hope this suffices!
> 
> Hopefully this is enjoyable - we could all use a little escapism right now!

I don't mind my job at the reception desk of the resort hotel, but when my supervisor floated the idea that I might be able to leave early, due to the low number of occupied rooms, I jumped at the chance. I was pulling up in front of our small house before midnight.

As I climb out of my car I see the lights are on in the living room - apparently Lynn made it home from her babysitting job. I also see an unfamiliar car across the street, parked a few houses down. I don't normally notice things like that - especially in the dark - but we have limited parking on our street and I get a little annoyed when visitors' cars take up space. I send a glare at the non-descript compact car before going up to my front door.

I dig in my purse for my keys, but I don't even need to put them in the lock. As soon as I place my hand on the doorknob it spins freely in my grasp. My annoyance grows. I open the door, ready to read Lynn the riot act, but the living room is empty.

Figuring she's either in her room or the bathroom, I call out. "Damn it Lynn, you left the door unlocked! And whose car is that across the street?"

There's a pause, then I hear her voice come from her bedroom. "Val? Come into my room. I'll explain everything."

I grin to myself. Rick. He probably got a new car, or borrowed a buddy's. Well, good for her. I kick off my shoes, toss my purse on the counter, and then amble to Lynn's room. The door is partially open and the light is on. I push the door open all the way, and the thick, musky smell hits me immediately.

Sweat. Semen. Sex.

The first thing I notice is Lynn, lying nude on top of a man. All I can really see is her backside, but she's not wearing anything, not even socks. The second thing I notice is that the man she is lying on top of is not Rick.

It's fucking Mr. Finney.

I can't help it, I stare. My hand is still resting on the door, and I am staring at my naked roommate lying on top of an equally naked Mr. Finney.

Maybe two weeks ago I had stopped by Lynn's mom's house. I'd needed a zipper fixed on a dress, and Lynn's mom is a seamstress. When I came over to pick up the dress, Mr. Finney had been mowing the lawn at his tenant's place a few houses down.

Mowing with his shirt off.

Mrs. Caslin had been showing off her impeccable repair work on my dress when she'd realized I wasn't watching, and was instead gazing out the kitchen window. She'd leaned over to see what I was looking at, and then had chuckled knowingly. "Ah. Joe Finney. He's quite a dish, isn't he?" Then she'd sighed, "If only I was fifteen years younger. . . "

I'd turned in confusion. "But he's not that much younger than you, is he?" Lynn's mom had been pretty young when Lynn was born, and I knew she wasn't quite forty yet.

"Oh, no, I'm only five or six years older than him. But he's got a type. He likes younger women."

As I stare at naked Lynn and dishy Mr. Finney, the phrase "younger women" echoes in my head.

No shit.

Lynn has rolled over to look back at me. Her breasts, now exposed, are shiny with sweat. Or something else. I try to not let the large mounds distract me, and instead focus on Lynn's face.

"Val. You know Joe."

"Joe" gives me a mock salute. "Valerie Bridges. It's been a while."

I open my mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a squeak. For when Lynn rolled over, she rolled mostly off of Mr. Finney, and I can now see . . . all of him.

I'd seen his naked torso when he was mowing the lawn. I could only imagine what the rest of him looked like. I don't have to imagine anymore. His cock is sagging, obviously at the tail end of an erection, but it is still plump and long enough to admire. It is also still slick with cum, and I suddenly realize I must have come in right after they'd done the deed. Like within five minutes.

"Lynn." My voice sounds weird, and I clear my throat, starting again. "Lynn, I have to talk to you."

Lynn shrugs, sitting up. She rises off the bed and reaches for a sheet; Mr. Finney, lying on top of the sheets, grins wickedly at her and attempts to pull the sheets out of her reach. I watch with a kind of disbelief at the easy playfulness.

Lynn finally wrestles a sheet out from under Mr. Finney, and wraps it around herself. It’s wet, obviously soiled from their . . . union, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Or care. Lynn pads to the doorway, and just as we turn to leave the room Mr. Finney calls, "Hurry back, girls."

What the fuck?

I pull Lynn into the living room, and I’m about to sit on the couch when my eyes touch on the clothes scattered on the floor. Lynn's shirt and bra. A shirt that had to be Mr. Finney's. I reach down and pick up his shirt, then hold it out to Lynn, incredulous.

"What the hell happened here?"

Lynn sits down on the couch, grabbing her nearby phone and moving it to an end table. Then she looks up at me with a kind of impatience. "Oh come on, Val, don't play dumb. You were the one who told me to wear the black lace bra."

"As a joke! I didn't - how would I think - my God, Lynn!" I sit down as well, fairly dropping onto the couch. "What happened? How did it happen?"

She shakes her head with a small smile. "I don't know. Everything was normal, until he drove me home. He made a pass at me in the car, but I didn't do anything. So he just dropped me off." Her smile widens. "But I guess he thought he'd try again, because he was back in five minutes, came knocking on the door. Said his car broke down, and his cell phone had died, and could he use mine."

I raise an eyebrow. "I don't think it was really your cell phone he was looking to use."

Lynn laughs, and I can tell from her flushed face and heady smile that she is smitten.

And part of me doesn't blame her. I hadn't had Mr. Finney for history, but he had also monitored a study hall, and sometimes had gotten a detention detail. That was where I had come across him in middle school - more the detention side of it than the study hall side. And I, like the majority of his female students, had been wholly aware of his boyish good looks and arresting smile.

I wasn't blind.

"I hope you used a condom," I tell Lynn.

Her face flushes more, and this time I can tell it's from embarrassment. "I didn't have any in my room."

"I do! You know where I keep them!"

"There wasn't time. . ."

I shake my head in exasperation. "I thought I taught you better than that," I mutter.

"Oh, screw you, Val." Lynn stands up, and looks down at me in irritation. "It's Mr. Finney! It's not like he's some guy I picked up in a bar. He's a teacher for Christ's sake!"

"Yeah, a teacher with a wandering dick!" When Lynn scoffs, I persist. "He's married, and he's here fucking you - how do you know you're the only one, other than his wife? How do you know he doesn't do this all the time?"

A voice speaks from the far end of the room. "I don't. I don't even do it with my wife." Mr. Finney is standing at the entrance to Lynn's room, clad in somewhat wrinkled boxers. "She's frozen me out. She's too busy with Lyle Parker."

I gape at him in spite of myself. "The vice principal? Your wife is having an affair with the vice principal?"

He smiles sadly, then looks at Lynn. "Why do you think she sent me to the store? Although I don't think she really cared where I went. As long as it took me a while to come home."

Lynn immediately goes to him, to lift her arms and embrace him. Mr. Finney hugs her back, and the embrace is intimate without being sexual - until Lynn's sheet starts to slip. Neither of them tries to stop it; soon Lynn is again naked. Joe's hands creep lower, stealing down to Lynn's ass, squeezing and caressing - and then he shoves a finger into her asshole.

It's like I'm not even there. Mr. Finney adds a second finger, and Lynn gives a little yip. The fingers go in so deep he lifts her ass up into the air, and she has to stand on her tip toes.

My mouth drops open. Mr. Finney, looking over Lynn's head at me, grins widely. His light-colored eyes bore right into mine.

"Would you care to join us?" he asks me. He withdraws his fingers from Lynn's ass (she falls forward a bit into his chest) and then beckons to me with those same fingers.

I gawk at the two of them, at half-naked Joe Finney cuddling my naked roommate. I try to figure out just what the hell is going on.

"She's got toys," Lynn says softly. "Like a whole drawer full."

Mr. Finney's grin reaches all the way up to his eyes. " _Does_ she now?"

"I also have condoms. I'm not doing anything to you without a condom."

Apparently I've decided I'm joining in.

**ooOoo**

When I exit my room with a small reusable shopping bag, Mr. Finney and Lynn are waiting on the couch. I guess I must have taken longer than I thought, because they had begun to entertain themselves in my absence. They're kissing passionately, their tongues in each other's mouths. Their bodies are pressed together, Joe's hands grasping at Lynn's breasts. I stop and watch again, flabbergasted. Lynn, naked and on display, seems unconcerned with my shock. She's never been a wilting flower when it comes to sex - her and Rick have been good and loud on occasion. But still, they've always kept their activities in Lynn's room (or in the shower), and have never paraded nude in the living room post-coitus. I wonder if this is Joe's influence, or if Rick is just more modest, which had prompted Lynn to hold back.

I clear my throat, and the two come apart, but it's somewhat grudgingly. Then Mr. Finney reaches for the bag in my hands. After he pulls on the bag, I finally release it with a tense huff.

Both Mr. Finney and Lynn lean over the bag. Lynn brings out my "realistic" dildo, pantomimes measuring it against Mr. Finney, then puts it back in the bag. Mr. Finney pulls out my favorite wireless wand, and switches it on. As he increases the power, his hand wavers slightly with the vibrations. "Nice," he whistles.

The metal butt plug is inspected next. And the little bullet vibrator, which I also like to use in my ass. I have to be careful when doing that, though – I put it in too far once, and got it stuck in my rectum. I was terrified I’d have to go to the emergency room to get it removed, but Lynn had actually calmed me down and advised me to just relax and wait. Thankfully, with some light straining on the toilet, I’d gotten it down far enough that I was able to reach in and pull it out.

My rabbit is taken out next. My corded Magic Wand. The tubes of lube and warming gel. The arousal cream.

Mr. Finney's smile grows with each item he examines. Finally he pulls out the partial package of condoms, then shakes his head sorrowfully.

"Sorry, Val, but they're too small."

And then he lowers his boxers, to prove his point. And I'll be damned if he wasn't telling the truth. Enough time has passed since Mr. Finney and Lynn did - whatever they did. Mr. Finney's cock is no longer anywhere near sagging. I suddenly forget my old middle school teacher is exposing himself in my living room.

He's just a guy.

Just a hard-bodied guy with a huge dick.

Lynn is on her knees (when did that happen?) in front of him, her hands lightly caressing his balls. Her breasts brush against Mr. Finney's legs as she lowers her head and runs a tongue across the head of his penis, licking off the precum. Mr. Finney give a low groan that slowly grows in volume. Lynn smiles, then while still massaging Mr. Finney’s balls, she takes the head of his cock in her mouth. The sucking sound echoes in our small living room. At first I’m stunned, that my roommate is giving our old teacher a blow job right in front of me, but then I realize my panties are growing damp.

There’s no denying it. I’m completely turned on.

It’s obvious that Mr. Finney is enjoying Lynn’s mouth (and tongue) on his dick, from the closed eyes and almost musical groans. But then he grimaces somewhat, and gives Lynn a little push away. She pulls off his cock with a slight ‘pop’ and looks at him questioningly.

"No, I can do this. I want you two to play. I want to watch."

Lynn leans back on her haunches, then glances at me. Her mouth quirks up.

"Little hard to play when you have all those clothes on, Val."

It's not like I haven't thought about it. Playing, letting someone watch. I mean, I hadn't thought it would happen like this, but. . .

Any port in an orgy.

**ooOoo**

Mr. Finney directs. First, he commands me to strip. Shirt first, then bra. He wants to watch my breasts jiggle and bounce as I take off my work pants, slowly, one leg at a time (“No wiggling out of them,” he tells me). I'm ordered to peel my socks off next. Joe stares intently at me, his eyes never leaving my body. When I’m in nothing but my white underwear, he gestures me forward. As I stand in front of him, he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of my panties, and pulls them down leisurely, his face inches from my snatch. I lift each foot so he can remove the last piece of my clothing. Holding my simple cotton underwear, he runs his fingers over the wet patch in the middle, grinning. Then he presses my panties under his nose, breathing in.

“Mmm. You smell almost as good as Lynn.”

“Thank . . . you?” It's unusual enough to be standing bare-assed in my living room, but having the scent of my arousal compared to my roommate's. . .

Next Mr. Finney has me give Lynn my corded wand, and orders her to plug it in. As she finds the nearest outlet to insert the plug into, I am again amazed at how obviously comfortable she is in the buff. I would never have thought that of her. She is graceful in her nakedness.

When I look back at Mr. Finney he again beckons to me. I see he is holding out the butt plug, and he’s applied some lube to it. "Come here and bend over," he says firmly. All of a sudden I feel like I’m in detention again, being told to sit quietly and do my homework. I find myself moving forward without hesitation, and I bend in front of him, exposing my ass. His hands split my ass cheeks, and I feel the pressure of the plug being shoved in, cold and sudden. The presence is familiar and pleasurable, and my asshole clenches. "Oh, damn," I whisper.

"Grab that little bullet. Stick it in your pussy."

I go to the bag, waddling slightly, and pull out the bullet. Pressing the button and holding it so it reaches the maximum vibrations, I begin to rub my lips and my clit with the little vibe. As I'm already wet and slippery down there, the toy is difficult to hold on to. I finally push it inside of me and close my legs against it, trembling with the shuddering shake of the toy. I do this sometimes in bed, and have fallen asleep once or twice with the bullet inside of my pussy. When I wake up the batteries are dead.

I barely realize that while I have been occupied, Lynn has started to play with my wand. She is seated on the floor, her legs widely parted, and she has the vibrating head of the wand pressed hard against her slit. Her head is tipped back and her eyes are closed, her mouth in an ‘O’. She seems to be on the edge of an orgasm. And she looks damn sexy.

Since I am a little older than Lynn, and have had more partners, I had always thought that it was my responsibility to train her up. I had considered her a sexual novice. She and Rick had both been virgins when they started sleeping together, after all. And that was only about three weeks ago.

But it appears Lynn has completed the necessary training, and has even put in some extra credit.

Meanwhile, Mr. Finney is stroking his cock, almost automatically. He is watching us, not really paying too much attention to his growing erection. I am paying attention to it, though.

He was right. The condoms I had were way too small. Even the extras in the bathroom wouldn't fit.

"Lynn." Mr. Finney speaks, interrupting Lynn's fun. His voice is tight and hoarse. "Give Val the wand. You get out the dildo. And I want you to sit on it, like how you rode me."

Lynn obediently stops her masturbating, and hands me the wand, still vibrating. I reach to take the bullet from between my legs, but Mr. Finney stops me. "No - leave it in," he demands.

To do this, I have to sit as well. When I do the butt plug goes a little further inside, and I gasp in surprise and pleasure. Once I am situated and am sure the little bullet won't slip out of me, I take the wand and place it between my legs. I rub the vibrating head over my hairy pussy, down near my ass, around in circles, back and forth. I bring the wand up to my breasts, going over my already erect nipples. The wand is wet with my juices, or Lynn’s, or both; either way, the wetness transfers to my nipples and makes them slick and shiny.

Mr. Finney is in the middle of the couch, and Lynn and I are on the floor, on either side of him. Joe is still jerking off. A little faster now, and his breathing has also quickened. His heavy-lidded eyes go from me to Lynn, from Lynn to me, like he’s watching a tennis match. Lynn has stuck the dildo partially inside her, and then has sat on the floor so that she can bounce on it and use gravity to shove the dildo in further. Her ass is hitting the floor, cheeks jiggling. Her large breasts are jiggling in time with her ass cheeks.

As the three of us continue masturbating, I realize I am thoroughly enjoying this. In some perverted way this is fucking erotic. We are the sex toys, Lynn and I. We are Mr. Finney's sex toys.

The fact that Lynn and I, doing what we are doing, can get Mr. Finney off, that we could make him cum with just our actions and bodies, while not actually having sex with him. . . It's beautiful in its vulgarity. It’s powerful. Lynn and I are satisfying ourselves, and that's all Mr. Finney wants.

And apparently that's all that he needs. I'm still edging with the wand and Lynn is still riding the dildo when Mr. Finney suddenly moans loudly and leans back. His fully erect cock begins to jerk and squirt in his hands. His jizz shoots out to land on his thighs as he pants and grunts. Lynn crawls over to him awkwardly, with the dildo still stuck inside of her. Then she lowers her head to suck at Mr. Finney's pulsing cock, easing him through the aftershocks. He murmurs her name, lowering shaking hands to tangle them in her hair.

When did my roommate become such a freak?

Although, I should talk - sitting on the floor with a butt plug in my ass, a bullet vibe in my pussy, and a Magic Wand massaging . . . well, everything else. Sweating and breathing fast, shivering and trembling as I grow close to orgasm.

I guess I'm a little bit of a freak too.

Lynn is draped over Mr. Finney, her face now buried in his muscled chest. He gazes over her head at me, sees how I am near climax, and again his eyes bore into my soul.

"How goes it, Val?"

My voice is a quivering whisper. "Good," I say breathlessly. "Good, Mr. Finney."

"Call me Joe," he says.

**-fin-**

**Author's Note:**

> Any comments are welcome!


End file.
